She lets out a staggered breath. “Yes. Did you hate me?”
“No. Not even a little. I thought you were a total bitch, but I could also see that you were hurting. This entire situation is a lot. I volunteered for it, but you were just… saddled with it,” I say, because it’s true.
I really never hated Tempest. Loathed? Yes. Lusted after? Absolutely. But hate is too strong a word. Can you hate someone if they never leave your thoughts?
“I hated you at first because it was convenient. You were a felion—thefelion I was stuck with. I knew you were just as much a political pawn as I was, but I needed someone to take my shit out on, and it was easier to blame you,” she starts. “I also thought you lived some lavish life. Every time you called me princess, it grated on me, because I felt like you were undermining my struggles. Little did I know, I was the one undermining you,” she says, and the acknowledgment of my hardships blossoms warm, fuzzy feelings in my chest.
“And now?”
She sighs, shifting to nuzzle her face into my chest. “I hate you because you make it hard to pretend I don’t care.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t care either,” I admit.
Tempest cranes her neck upwards, kissing the tip of my jaw. “I hate that I don’t hate you at all.” My eyes flutter closed, sleep taking me under its soft wings. Her voice drops down, barely even a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.”
Perhaps she’s right. But to me, it meanseverything.
Movement No. 29
Tempest
My eyes open, my limbs sore and heavy as I process the last four days. Our agreement not to kiss, and kissing her anyway in the bathroom of The Cathedral. My weak attempt at pushing her away, only to have her fall asleep in my arms. This constant push and pull is draining.
Yasmeena isn’t good for me. Not if I’m going to follow my father’s orders and kill Draven.
Can I even do it at this point, or should I exile myself now?
Even if I choose not to carry out my plan and tell the carnies the truth, I can’t live here. They would have a permanent target on their backs, and my Alpha would stop at nothing to get revenge against his traitorous daughter.
My mind spins. This is the first morning in a long time that I’ve woken up peacefully. I’m stressed about the situation, but I slept well. There were no gripping nightmares. I didn’t wake up a sweaty mess in a fit of rage or fear. No, I slept like a rock, the warmth and weight of Yasmeena’s body soothing me.
I swear I must be cursed.
She’s still asleep, and I can’t help but admire the muscular curves of her figure. The way her lips pout, and her nose comesdown in a straight line. I love the shortness of her hair compared to mine, and how her tail is slim and long.
It’s as if she were made for me in a lab. If someone asked me to design a partner for myself, the sketch would look uncanny.
Standing, I get dressed. The felion election is today, and it’s not something I ever envisioned attending, but I plan on being there for Yasmeena. Letting her catch up on sleep, I make my way toward the hall, where breakfast awaits.
The fresh scent of eggs and buttered bread fills the space, and I breathe it in, waving at Rowan as I walk past. He’s wearing pants and an apron, with no shirt, and Quinn stands by his side, the two giggling. Jealousy hits me in waves, regardless of how happy I might be for them. I can’t tell if I’m envious of their love, or envious that their children are being raised by three doting parents, when I didn’t even receive one.
As I reach the table, Reina looks over at me. “Good morning, temper.”
“Excuse me?” I say, my hackles rising.
Yasmeena and I have an election to attend, and a formal meeting with the Alphas this afternoon; I don’t have the energy for this right now. Between my father’s expectations and the fate of the continent resting on Yasmeena’s and my decisions and actions, I’d rather pull out my own teeth than go tit-for-tat with Reina.
“Temper—it’s your nickname,” she says, a malicious grin spreading across her face.
Does she think I’m stupid?
“It isnot,” I bite out. This is an incredibly immature argument, but I’m in a fucking mood already, nervous energy lingering in the pits of my stomach.
“Yasmeena calls you princess, but you can’t handle temper? Feels more accurate.” Reina slouches back in her chair, clearly itching for an argument.
“Yasmeena calls me princess because I allow her to, and because we’ve developed mutual respect for one another,” I say.
She lifts up a hand in question, her mouth forming a frown. “Do we not have a mutual respect for one another?”
